Chapter 4 - The Ashes of the Lodge
"Down!" Vincent roared, throwing his body over Lily and sweeping her off the sofa onto the hardwood floor beneath the protection of the massive oak desk.
Elena screamed, rolling off her armchair and pressing her body flat against the Persian rug as a second and third round shattered the remaining window panes, raining glass shards down across the room.
Outside, the estate's automated security alarms began to blare—a sharp, rhythmic horn echoing across the grounds.
Marcus and three armed guards burst through the double study doors with weapons drawn. "Boss! Snipers on the north ridge!" Marcus shouted, taking a tactical firing position by the ruined window frame. "Perimeter team is engaging!"
"Get the blind shutters down!" Vincent commanded, holding Lily tight against his chest.
Marcus slammed a heavy red button near the doorway. Reinforced steel security shutters descended over the shattered windows with a heavy mechanical hiss, sealing the study in absolute darkness illuminated only by the red emergency backup lights along the baseboards.
Vincent stood up, lifting Lily smoothly into his arms. She didn't cry; she simply buried her face into his neck, holding her stuffed rabbit tight.
Vincent walked over to Elena, who was shivering uncontrollably on the rug, her hands covering her head. He reached down, grabbed her by the collar of her black coat, and hauled her to her feet with effortlessly terrifying strength.
"Where did you bring her from today, Elena?" Vincent growled, his face inches from hers in the crimson light. "The truth. Right now."
"A... a hunting lodge near Blackwood Lake!" Elena sobbed, tears ruining her makeup. "It belonged to Michael's private estate! I swear to God, Vincent, I didn't know about any poison! They told me if I brought the girl to the estate, they would give me the antidote for Luca and Nico!"
"Who told you?!" Vincent demanded, his voice echoing off the steel shutters.
"The board!" Elena cried. "Arthur Vance and the corporate trustees! They said Michael stole fifty million dollars from the family trust before his accident! They said the girl was the key to the offshore accounts!"
Vincent’s mind moved with lethal speed. Arthur Vance was the family's senior legal trustee—a man who had managed the Valenti corporate assets for thirty years.
Vincent looked at Marcus. "Take Elena and the kids to the subterranean bunker beneath the wine cellar. Lock the blast doors. Nobody enters without my voice code."
"Where are you going, Boss?" Marcus asked, pulling his sidearm.
"I'm going to Blackwood Lake," Vincent said coldly.
Thirty minutes later, Vincent was driving a high-powered armored sedan down a winding, rain-slicked mountain road toward the dense pine forests surrounding Blackwood Lake. The rain lashed against the windshield as his dark eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
He reached the secluded driveway of the mountain lodge at five in the morning. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, casting a thick blanket of fog over the trees.
The lodge was gone.
A smoldering heap of charred timber and twisted metal sat where the structure had stood, black smoke rising into the damp morning air. The fire had been set with military-grade thermite, consuming the entire building in hours.
Vincent stepped out of his car, his polished leather shoes crunching on wet ash as he walked into the ruined foundation. He pulled a heavy tactical flashlight from his coat, illuminating the charred stone fireplace standing among the debris.
Set into the stone base of the fireplace was a heavy iron wall safe, its surface scorched black but completely intact.
Vincent pulled a high-torque mechanical drill from his trunk, set the bit against the safe's electronic lock, and sheared through the locking pins in less than two minutes. He swung the heavy iron door open.
Inside sat a stack of leather-bound journals and a sealed metal canister. On top of the journals lay a legal document signed in fresh blue ink.
Vincent pulled the document into the light of his flashlight.
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It was a biological consent form for a bone marrow transplant dated three days ago—bearing the fresh signature of Elena Valenti alongside the official signature and stamp of Arthur Vance. But what made Vincent’s blood freeze was the third signature at the bottom of the page.
It was signed in precise, elegant handwriting: Michael Valenti.
